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Chapter Sixteen
Cade
“You can’t leave!” Amanda says as she races after me. “We’re supposed to block scene five. Cade! You have Friday off; you cannot leave.”
I’m barely listening to her as I pull open the door to my on-set trailer.
I don’t care if we have a three-day weekend. Hell, I wouldn’t care if we had a four-day weekend.
I’m going to Tahoe tonight.
I made a mistake in not calling Dylan sooner. My flight Sunday had a mechanical delay, and I didn’t get into Vancouver until close to four in the morning—two hours before I was due on set. Monday night I didn’t even make it back to the hotel, crashing in my trailer. Tuesday was another long day and as I was dialing Dylan’s number, I was pulled into a media engagement.
Then this morning, not even an hour after starting to shoot, the director called a break. There was news that effected people on crew.
After finding out just what the news was, the only thing I wanted, needed, was to get to Dylan.
“I’m leaving,” I tell Amanda as I grab my backpack and wallet, passing her on my way back out of the trailer.
“You’re going to regret this!” she yells after me. I’m making good time with my strides, already near the end of the lot and to my rental car.
No.
I regret not talking to Dylan.
I regret not being there with her when she found all of this out.
I will not regret being by her side, if she needs a friend.
She has Charleigh.
Yeah. And she’s going to have me, too.
***
Of course, the best flight I can find involves a layover.
Would it hurt so much to have a direct-to-Reno flight?
Thankfully, the layover is a twenty-minute one, but I barely make my second flight. Soon, I’m on the ground at Reno and making my way to long-term parking.
The following forty-minute drive drags on, and when I finally pull into the White’s drive, the sun is starting it’d descent in the sky. The house is completely lit up; lights on in many of the windows.
I see that Charleigh’s BMW is sitting in the drive, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I’m out of the truck and to the front door in seconds.
The house may be bright, but Charleigh nor Dylan are anywhere to be found. My guess then, is they’re on the patio. It seems to be Dylan’s favorite spot.
I drop my bag at the base of the stairs and move through the kitchen and out the sliding doors, where Charleigh and Dylan indeed are. Charleigh is jabbering on, an iPad in her lap, and Dylan is nodding but damn.
She looks exhausted.
Even in the darkening sky, I can see her eyes are heavy and they’re rocking some decent bags underneath.
“Ladies,” I introduce my arrival.
I may be listening to Charleigh, but my attention is one-hundred percent on Dylan, and when she startles I feel terrible. “Just me,” I say to that.
